The terror of that day still haunted Clarence. He’d never been that scared since the day Jake Harkner stuck a gun into his mouth and threatened to pull the trigger. He’d never seen so much shooting in his life, and he hoped he never would again. He felt lucky to have gotten away with his life, and he had even considered leaving Kennedy, going back to Virginia City and staying with his uncle a while until things cooled down.
They had eluded the law by heading north and making those who hunted them think they had gone to Canada. Instead, after finding a farm family who put them up and treated their wounds at gunpoint, they had circled around and headed back south, killing the entire family first so that they could not identify them. They had moved on through the Nevada desert and into Utah, where there was a whole network of hangouts for outlaws all along a north-south trail from Arizona clear into Wyoming called the Outlaw Trail. It was a haven of caverns and canyons and desolate country where no lawman ventured, unless he wanted to commit suicide. It was along that trail that Kennedy had picked up the two new men, Oran Peters and Cliff Remington. With himself and Kennedy, and longtime gang members Juan, Joe Stowers, and Jeb Donner, Kennedy’s gang now numbered seven.
Still only twenty-one and the youngest of the group, Clarence felt proud to be a part of this formidable bunch of outlaws who took what they wanted wherever they went—money, women, anything they needed. It was mostly women he couldn’t get enough of, and the innocent ones who protested pleased him most. He drank down some whiskey. This was the good life, a hell of a lot better than sitting around listening to his uncle preach. The way he lived now was dangerous and daring, but he liked the power that came with being one of Bill Kennedy’s men. He had gotten pretty good with his gun, thanks to lessons from Bill and Jeb. After each robbery that turned out especially lucrative, they lived high on the hog, buying new clothes, buying the prettiest women.
That had been the case after their last robbery of a little bank in some nameless town in Arizona, where they had found a surprising amount of cash on hand. They had ridden into Mexico to lay low for a while and now returned, coming up into Southern California. Here in San Diego they had bought new clothes and decided to get baths and shaves. His new felt hat hung on a hat rack nearby, and he wore a diamond ring on his right hand. Nearby lay his brand-new .45 Peacemaker with a cutaway trigger guard to make his draw and shooting time even faster. The gun rested in a new gun belt with his name etched into the holster.
The only trouble they had found since fleeing Northern California was along the Outlaw Trail itself. At a place called Robber’s Roost they had run into two men who had known Jake Harkner in his gunrunning days, men Jake had known before he took up with Bill Kennedy. They seemed to have a certain loyalty to Jake and didn’t like the idea that Bill Kennedy had been hunting for him. One of them, who called himself Jess York, claimed Jake had saved his life once, and he didn’t want anything to do with anybody who was out to kill Jake. He and several other men had come after Kennedy, warning all of them to forget about finding Jake. That was the only time Clarence could remember Bill Kennedy and even Juan running from anything, but it was obvious the men meant business.
Clarence had realized then that being an outlaw didn’t always mean just the law was after you, but sometimes men of your own kind. Word had spread, and they had suddenly become unwelcome practically everyplace they stopped along the Trail. They had been forced to the southern end, into Arizona, and after the bank robbery there, they had finally gone on into Mexico. After a few weeks in Mexico, Kennedy had decided to come back north, this time into Southern California, where they weren’t so well-known. There was plenty of wealth to be had here too, and they could always make it back to Mexico, where the law couldn’t touch them, in just a few days. And in Mexico there were no outlaws who wouldn’t make them welcome there. In fact, Kennedy had made friends with some rough-looking banditos and was planning to do business with them, raiding Southern California towns and ranches and trading horses, guns, and women to the banditos for Mexican gold.
One of the bathhouse women gave Kennedy a copy of a San Diego newspaper, and the man handed it over to Clarence, the only one among them who could read well. “Take a look, boy. Let us know what’s goin’ on around here that’s exciting.”
Clarence took the newspaper and studied it, proud to be the best educated one of the bunch. They all seemed to look up to him a little for that, all except Juan, who had no respect for anything. Clarence stayed away from Juan, after an argument they’d had over which one got to rape a young Mexican girl first. Juan had come after him with a knife, and Kennedy had managed to talk the man out of using it on him. Clarence had seen Juan’s “talent” with the big bowie he carried, and he wanted no more run-ins with the man.